


Dangly Bits

by Liondragon (Sameshima_Shuzumi)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clothing, Fluff, Genderqueer Character, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jewelry, Medical Jargon, Non-cisgendered Steve Rogers, Other, Protective Avengers, Swearing, Tony Stark Is a Cad to All Females, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, transvengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4822022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sameshima_Shuzumi/pseuds/Liondragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I felt like some transvengers fluff, so I wrote some. Entirely self-indulgent smattering of Steve Rogers walking in and perusing the 21st century options, and the team getting a lot out of supporting him unconditionally.<br/><i>"I like that pronoun," said Natasha suddenly. "'Us.'"</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Dangly Bits

  
unauthorized duplication and distribution is prohibited    

Steve later said it was because he was a New Yorker.

"You gotta case out every neighborhood, know what you're getting into depending on the subway stop," he explained, rummaging through the bargain bins. "After that was the War. We had to do the same thing except while being shot at."

"So that's how you're adjusting to the future?" asked Clint. Tony was listening in as he dug through the t-shirts.

"I didn't think of that at first," admitted Steve. "I was real low for a while. Then I started seeing it as a mission."

"And you do what you always do," said Natasha, slipping in behind him. She was holding up a vintage lace dress. "You make a plan."

Steve looked over her find. A small smile touched his peach-pink lips. "Helps to have a team behind you. This is too much lace, isn't it?"

"We could change that," remarked Bruce. 

*

Steve didn't so much come out as go on a shopping trip with Natasha. 

She caught on right away. "No department stores," she assured him.

"Thank goodness," said Steve.

"Wherever I go, the people are known for their absolute discretion." Then Natasha clapped her hands, which was what popped Tony out of his pre-coffee stupor. "I'm so fucking glad. I thought this team would be a sausage fest!"

"Miss Romanov, technically speaking it still is," said Steve. "And if you don't mind my saying, I'm not sure I'm comfortable with your language."

"Speaking of language, let's talk pronouns!" Natasha declared. The elevator doors closed before Tony could get a word out.

*

Steve was fine with 'he' and 'him'. "It's an Army thing. We're all grunts in uniform. Besides," he said, sipping his cocoa and crossing his legs. "I stopped caring about what strangers thought of me when I was around six years old."

"What about your friends?" asked Natasha in a reasonable tone.

"You all know I'm non-binary?" Steve glanced around. At their nods, he shrugged. "Then that's all I need to know."

"Of course you'd be analog," Tony quipped. 

"Reality is analog, Tony," said Steve.

Tony gasped. "You take that back, you anti-quantum fiend!"

"I've been a 'him' for too long," said Steve, ignoring Tony's sputtering. "Guess I'm old-fashioned after all."

"'They'?" asked Clint.

"Might be close, except then Tony would start on the jokes about containing multitudes," said Steve. "I like my job, and I like that it's masculine." He got a faraway look. "Honestly, I'd rather not let anyone outside of us know I feel like a dame most days. I want something that's mine."

Bruce hummed an agreement into his tea.

"I like that pronoun," said Natasha suddenly. "'Us.'"

*

When Steve and Natasha returned from that fateful shopping trip, Tony was a bit more awake. He had to be, he was hanging out with Thor and talking about alien alcohol tolerances. 

"—it's a stupid social construct," Steve was saying, their oversized bags crackling and bumping. Tony made a mental note to bring Steve up on contemporary slang so he'd sound less like a historical briefing packet. Tony had only narrowly averted the 'boner' disaster after ages of listening to Howard yammer on with his wartime buddies. "That's the term?" Steve checked with Natasha. She nodded.

"What is?" called Tony across the room.

Steve froze. Then he seemed to stiffen up, girding himself. That only made Tony go rigid too— anticipating a fight.

But Steve only said, "Shaving my legs. Girls never did, in Europe, and it wasn't just because of rationing. Didn't make 'em any less..." He stopped himself from adding an adjective. Natasha smiled approvingly.

Thor spoke up. "Your aspect is that of a woman, Captain?" 

Steve nodded. "You could say that." His gaze swung to Tony. Challenging.

Tony took a full thirty seconds to appreciate the situation. 

"I'm sure you've got nice gams, Steve, but are you ready for skirts above the knee?"

"Tony," admonished Natasha. 

Steve, on the other hand, relaxed. "I don't have the boots to pull it off."

"Matter of time. I can't believe you didn't shave under those tights," Tony exclaimed, now more sure of the ground. "What about stockings?"

"Coming in the mail," said Steve. "They didn't have my size."

And Tony was offering the use of JARVIS and his many, many couturier contacts, and Thor was asking if stockings were the same as battle hosiery, and then they had to sit down and order takeout so Thor could define _that_.

*

Bruce came around to it more slowly. 

"It's not you, Steve," he insisted. "I... there were a lot of words tossed around in my household. Negative. I have to," he took a deep breath. "Process."

Steve nodded. Then he said, "My wandering around embodying Dr. Erskine's work — I'm guessing that doesn't help either?"

Bruce shot him a look that was parts grateful and mortified. "I'm getting there."

"I have faith in you," said Steve. "Let me know if I can do anything to help. Including telling me to get lost."

"It might help if you weren't so disgustingly good," muttered Bruce.

"I've been told I'm a hard-headed sarcastic shit," said Steve. "Just say the word."

Bruce fumbled with his glasses, smiling a little. He wandered off. Steve let him go.

*

"It's not a matter of preference or, uh, orientation, Tony," Steve said, waving U away. "I don't have time for a relationship."

"I realize this is rich as gravy coming from me, but sexing isn't just about sex, Steve." Tony clicked a laser across Steve's torso, noting the measurements.

"I'm comfortable," insisted Steve. "Besides, I'd rather not find out what menstruation's like."

He and Tony shuddered. 

Steve perched on a nearby stool. Tony noted how he crossed his legs. 

After watching Tony tinker for a bit, Steve said, "That's not to say I'm not glad you're taking an interest in my comfort. I'm grateful; no one besides Mom and Bucky ever did, before. I've just had enough modification to last two lifetimes, is all."

Tony looked up sharply. He'd seen and heard the Rebirth recordings. They were uncut, too, courtesy of Howard's personal collection. The screams had given him nightmares as a kid. "Yeah, I see how you wouldn't want on that ride. It's too bad even hormone replacement's out."

"It was a one-way trip," said Steve. "I might have died within the year from a lung infection or the heart condition. I can't say I'm sorry about that."

"Well, now we're going to stop you from dying in more interesting ways," said Tony, calling up Steve's uniform specs. 

Steve whistled. "Wow, Tony. Are those...?"

"Yup. All lightly armored, all articulated. And... there are still things we can do for you." He zoomed in on the torso. "This can be tightened up like a corset. Ostensibly it's to brace your ribs in case of fractures. But it'll also push things around..."

And Steve was covering his mouth. "That's... that would be good."

"I know you can't wear anything while you're on duty..." Tony's gaze dropped to Steve's breasts. Mostly muscle, but there was enough subcutaneous fat, and they were just rounded enough that a little adjustment here and there would give Steve cleavage.

"Thanks, Tony," said Steve. "Thank you."

"Sure," said Tony uncomfortably.

"And Stark? Eyes up."

"Damn it."

*

The team found themselves quarantined inside half a city block while someone cleared out the magic mist. Steve had run out of things to do, and he was still keyed up from the initial altercation. Clint had come down to ground level. He and Natasha sat by Bruce, waiting for him to wake from his Hulk-over.

Steve wandered off to check on the civilians. Tony, just as restless as he was, trailed after him. They found most of them holed up in their respective shops. Steve organized some headcounts, and then found himself eyeing the high-end merchandise.

"Shopping, Cap?"

"Just looking." Steve grimaced. "The amount of money I have now is disgusting. I mean, for me personally."

"No offense taken, I work hard to be filthy and loaded." Tony produced a pair of shades from somewhere, juggling his helmet. "Pepper's dying to take you shoe shopping, by the way."

"I'm not sure I'm ready for that," Steve said. "My tastes are a little plain."

"Pepper is an expert on many things, but shoes are her passion," said Tony. "Trust the master. What about those?" He pointed at a display case of cloisonné bracelets.

"They're pretty on velvet but not on me," said Steve. He darted a glance at the hovering salesperson.

Tony barely glanced over. "You, you, you, you're all getting NDA's on your phones. Sign them and we can forget that I'm a heavily armed billionaire who knows what you posted last night." He looked up at Steve. "Nondisclosure agreements."

"Oh," said Steve, flushing a little as the staff hurried to comply. "Thanks, Tony."

"Thank Stark Industries expense accounts. Also more legal than having Widow threaten them. So no bracelets?"

Steve checked out the pendants longingly. He already had their dogtags. "They wouldn't be practical for suiting up anyway."

"Who are we threatening?" Clint walked up.

"No one," said Steve sternly.

"They're still hunting down some spell ingredients or something." Clint assessed everything with a glance. "Hey, how about earrings?"

"Piercings won't stay," said Tony thoughtfully. "You ever seen clip-ons?" he asked Steve.

"Probably, but I didn't pay attention to that stuff."

Tony tapped on the glass with his gauntlet, lightly. The manager scurried over. "Gio, hey, nice digs here. Drag out some clip-ons from the back. No gems, something in Swarovski crystals?"

"They clamp on your earlobe," Clint was explaining. "You get used to it."

"And you can stash them fast," said Tony. "You all right trying stuff on out here?"

"Sure," said Steve. "Who'd believe us?" He peeled off his gloves, rubbing the webbing of his fingers like he was squeezing something out. His nails shone with coats of clear polish.

Steve did like the earrings. The dangly ones softened his jawline and changed the curve of his ears. They set aside the ones that were too angular or jagged. Steve ran his fingers over the different designs, like a kid in a candy store. A Depression-era candy store. Tony sent pics to Natasha and Bruce; she approved of the lacy geometric ones, and he reminded them to check that they were fair trade and conflict-free. 

Clint held up a smaller teardrop one. "Hate to rain on the parade, but you know earrings are good for my business. Lines up headshots."

Steve shrugged. "I'm only looking. Even if I did get something, it'd be for around the Tower."

"Non-reflective metals," said Tony immediately. "Gio, show us some options, I know you've got suppliers."

Tony proceeded to make fun of Steve's picks, up to the point of playing keep-away with a pair of white gold hoops. Though Steve realized he was being outmaneuvered, he picked some pairs just to spite Tony. 

Clint bought a single stud for undercover work. Steve had a couple of sets that looked like woven paisley pears wrapped up for delivery. 

*

Steve liked wrap skirts in pastel ombrés; blouses that were tight around his chest and loose puff sleeves which diagonally halved his biceps; ankle-length pleats. Tony was endlessly amused that at his fanciest, he favored cap sleeves. Steve did prefer plain styles, favoring comfort over fashion, but his favorite treats were dress straps: satin ruching, complicated plaits, asymmetrical webs. Bruce helped him source hand-woven linens from developing regions, and Steve sewed them himself into tubes to make delicate sarongs. He had a seemingly endless supply of belts, of course: soft fabric, leather, and woven fibers. 

He hated heels. It was his turn as a show-girl, he said. And he already had enough on his plate mentally adjusting his center-of-balance. 

(Pepper was horrified. Eventually Tony intervened, hollering, "They don't need heels to show off those calves, they're already perfect! He's Captain America!" And Steve recovered from the oddly apropos crossed-up pronouns to rejoin that Tony didn't want to look even shorter next to Steve.)

Boots, however, those he could indulge in. Few people noted the taper around the toes, and Steve could wear them with his jeans.

Natasha held his sandals hostage so he'd get a proper pedicure and foot massage. Steve was antsy sitting in one place for that long, but Natasha distracted him with social media. The massage was definitely worth it. In the summer Steve's hemlines inched up to his knees, and he wore metallic Grecian sandals and a leather pair that made him look like a gladiator.

*

Clint enjoyed being Steve's anti-fashion muse. Anything he liked was automatically too gaudy or cheesy for Steve. 

*

Tony on the other hand had impeccable taste. 

"I thought you didn't pay attention to art," said Steve, trying not to gape at a gown that looked like a waterfall of shimmering fabric. Then he bit his lip, realizing it sounded like a jibe at Tony.

Tony ignored it. "It should drape on you just right," he said. "I've seen a lot of women, in and out of clothes. It's all forms and proportions."

This time Steve fought off the wince. He had no right to judge. Tony's hedonistic lifestyle was no secret. "It's architectural," Steve said, enlightened. "That's pretty much—"

"Engineering. Huh," said Tony, like that was the first time he'd thought of it, too. 

"You have a clean aesthetic," said Steve. He smirked. "Even if your color scheme is awful."

"Keep talking, red-white-and-blue gal," murmured Tony.

Steve grinned. "Them's my working duds, what's your excuse?"

"My color scheme is classic. Stop flapping your pretty lips, you're ridiculous," Tony said. He turned and wrangled the stylist to locate a custom glovemaker who lived somewhere in Italy.

*

Clint and Bruce came up with a few ideas for ear cuffs. Clint was away on a mission, so Tony demonstrated the designs to a flabbergasted Steve. "Pepper lined up suppliers, discreet and they can work off the model of your earlobe to customize designs. You're okay with that, right? Someone having a model of your ears? These prototypes are wrap-around, hugs the upper helix. They integrate perfectly with our comms, so they'll look like high-end wireless devices."

"I could wear it in public," whispered Steve. He whirled around to Bruce, who was lurking in the background, and got an abashed shrug. "Fellas, I can't thank you enough. This is more than I'd ever expected."

"Payback for being disgustingly good," said Bruce mildly.

Steve nodded numbly. "They're beautiful. I don't know what to say. You really didn't have to."

Tony huffed. "This is what I do, this is primary school metal shop, I—" He plucked at Steve's embroidered sleeve till he turned, and shoved a clear box under Steve's nose. Resting on velvet were earrings, close copies of the dangling ones he usually wore. "Non-reflective, non-reactive. These are vibranium, by the way."

"Tony!" Steve stared.

"What, I had some left over. Steve, it's no biggie. If you want sparkly barrettes, even Butterfingers could make those. Bracers like those ones you drooled over in the Ancient Roman exhibit? Just say the word."

Steve had no idea what was going on. "You don't have to go through all this trouble just for me."

Tony's mouth flattened and his gaze flared. "My _dad_ told me there was nothing I could do that would make Captain America happy. If it turns out all I have to do to put a smile on your face is make stealth earrings that look great and jam enemy trackers, it's a no-brainer."

Now Steve was speechless.

Bruce coughed. "Dinner's soon. I could use some help in the kitchen, Steve."

"Sure," said Steve. "Tony, I... uh, could you show me the designs before you... I mean, I don't need a whole drawer of jewelry—"

Tony looked dubious, but he'd already moved on to the next lit screen. "Yeah, I'll e-mail you. If the stealth earrings work, that'd be a patent for SI, Pepper's always talking about expanding that division, we'll try it out on you, get you an employee discount...!"

"Come on, Steve," chivvied Bruce, who was trying not to smile.

*

Natasha introduced Steve to the satisfying art of pointing his toes. 

It was amazing what a change in posture could do. Even his breathing felt different.

Later he realized where her lessons were coming from, and why she liked to share them with him. He did a pencil drawing of her hands in the sharp splay of the Vaganova style, and had it framed for her. 

*

Months after the team moved into the Tower, Bruce called Steve into the lab. He was apologetic. Upset. 

"It could work, in theory. It's a matter of controlling the reflex of the cremaster muscle, which would, er, be a natural retraction with no more than a slight change in temperature. It could alleviate some of your dysphoria. The not-feeling-right." Bruce inhaled sharply. He took off his glasses and scrubbed at the lenses. "But to induce that on a permanent basis, it's... a small implant would be rejected, and to insert a large one... There are too many nerve bundles involved, and we still don't have an anesthetic that works on you. No... no ethical surgeon would operate. I wouldn't. Can't. I'm sorry."

"Bruce," said Steve, once he was sure the flow of words had stopped. "Have you been working on this all this time?"

Bruce nodded unhappily. 

Steve was wearing some taupe mascara today, and at this rate it was going to run. "It's okay," he said. "No, I mean it, it's okay. The dysphoria isn't that bad, it usually comes up when I hit the head or in the mornings when I wake up. Most of it is from being all this," he gestured, "The differences from the serum. I don't mind it, any more than I mind Cap."

"But you..."

"What you're talking about... I _have_ thought about orchiectomy. I looked it up a while ago. But it's not something I need. Please believe me?"

Bruce looked uncertain. "Okay."

"Bruce, I'm amazed you worked on this. For me." Steve swallowed past the lump in his throat. "No one's ever done anything like this, expended this much time and effort. Including Dr. Erskine."

"Oh." Bruce sighed heavily. "You're doing it again. Being disgustingly good."

Steve laughed shakily. "May I hug you?"

"Not for long," said Bruce. He pocketed his glasses.

Steve gave him a firm, quick hug, gently pressing cheek to cheek. "Thanks, Bruce."

"I didn't—" Bruce started. He was smiling, though.

"You did," insisted Steve. "It's one of the nicest things anyone's done for me this century."

*

Thor, for lack of a better term, liked to groom Steve. At first it seemed like an alien thing, and by then Steve had resigned himself to the team's aggressive pampering.

As time went on, though, Steve realized this was something Thor had to do for himself. The Asgardian prince was unfailingly helpful to everyone. If he were ever less than considerate, it was probably due to some cultural misunderstanding. And on that account, Thor was doing much better than Steve, who was at times purposeful with his faux pas.

Steve picked up on this once he saw Thor and Dr. Foster together. Thor effortlessly anticipated all her needs. Steve knew first-hand that Thor could hit way over Steve's weight-class, yet in contrast he treated Jane like she was made of spun glass. 

Steve had to get over his unease that he was poaching, particularly when Thor was gentle with him. Steve wasn't that kind of person. It wasn't anything like that, though.

As Thor held his foot in his enormous palm, applying a coat of nail polish, Steve reflected that the gentleness was the point. If Thor weren't considered a Norse god, Steve might call it Biblical. Thor wanted to learn to _take care_. He wanted the challenge of delicate work. Of humbling himself before the leader of a world not his own.

And there was the not-insignificant fact that Thor took Steve's commands on and off the battlefield. 

Steve hummed contentedly. Thor looked up, and they exchanged smiles. It occurred to Steve that Thor was one of the only people besides Peggy who could get him to accept his due as a woman. 

As a lady.

It was nice.

"Once you're finished, you want I should do you the honor of braiding your hair?" Steve asked.

"The honor would be mine, Captain," said Thor.

*

Steve said no to lipstick. He didn't mention why; even if the modern formulas were entirely different from Peggy's, he wasn't going to chance it. 

He resisted tinted lip balms the longest. 

Then Bruce presented him with some tubes with chemical knock-offs of the popular shades, except without the scents which overwhelmed Steve's enhanced senses. 

Steve hugged him again.

They were definitely okay after that.

*

Steve noticed that in public the team began pronouncing their he's and him's like the h was silent. It was subtle, like a version of Clint's regional accent. Steve didn't say anything about it. He had no objections.

*

"My favorite ladies!" Tony greeted as he swept into the main floor. Pepper, Natasha, and Steve looked up as Tony flung his suit jacket onto a passing robot. Behind him, Rhodey wrinkled his nose. "What's up, buttercups? The Pentagon's still a bunch of sucky losers who suck, lay on the sugar and spice, I'm so over it."

"Tony," said Rhodey under his breath. "What the hell. Thought you outgrew petty insults."

Tony glanced at his best friend, perhaps recalling that he had an enormous man-crush on Captain America. Was it just a regular crush, now? He opened his mouth to say something to that effect.

Steve astutely beat him to it. "Being compared to a woman isn't insulting, Colonel."

Rhodey blanched. "Of course not, Captain Rogers. Sorry, I'm..." he pressed a hand to his brow. "It's been a long day of making excuses for Tony. Which isn't an excuse. I apologize."

"We still have cookies, Jim," said Pepper diplomatically.

"Yeah, you seem a little hangry," said Tony.

Pepper shushed him.

When Rhodey sat down to take a cookie, he saw the elegant fold of Steve's legs. In the cornflower blue skirt. "Oh," Rhodey said. 

Steve raised a brow. 

"Damn," said Rhodey. "Now you're even cooler than I thought. That's not fair. May I ask?"

"Sure," said Steve. He smiled as Natasha kicked at his ankles. 

"Female, or genderfluid, or...?"

"Non-binary's still the easiest to say," said Steve. Genderqueer was probably on the money too, but Steve harbored older connotations about the word 'queer'. "If I weren't Cap, I'd probably go with female."

"Huh," said Tony. Natasha also looked intent.

Steve added, "But it's not as though being Cap is strange. Oh, stick with the usual pronouns, it's not a big deal to me." 

"She's so modest," said Tony. "It's sickening, really."

"I'm not femme for your convenience, Tony," said Steve dryly.

"No, you seemed it, when we walked in," said Tony, breezy. He not-so-absently kissed Pepper on the cheek. "I don't always have a pack of lovely women waiting on my arrival—"

"We were not waiting on you," said Natasha.

"Yeah, we were waiting for Jim," said Pepper primly.

"—all ready to stab me in the back. Typical."

Pepper patted Tony on the pout.

Rhodey shook his head. "Well, I should apologize on Tony's behalf for outing you. I won't tell a soul, Captain, cross my heart."

"It's all right. I believe you." Steve was bemused when Rhodey _lit up_ at that. "And it's Steve, please."

"Jim. Though I'll answer to Rhodey—"

"Aw, honeybear, babycakes..." said Tony.

"—it's a pleasure to meet you properly, ma'am." Rhodey offered a hand.

Steve shook it, smiling. "Likewise. It's nice to know someone around here has manners. Besides Bruce."

"Bruce is snarky," Natasha objected. "I know how to have manners."

Steve side-eyed her. "When it suits you."

Tony snickered. "This team, right? Any respect we had is long gone. Not just because we know about your mud masks."

"You wear mud masks," said Natasha to Tony. Steve pursed his lips and rolled his eyes.

Rhodey leaned in. "So may I ask something else, Steve? Kind of personal, though these jokers probably know."

Steve rolled a shoulder. "Go ahead." 

"You like women?"

"Uh," said Steve. "Romantically? Yes. I mean I wouldn't consider myself... uhm." They really hadn't given much thought to orientation. 'Lesbian' seemed a shade too far.

"Great!" said Rhodey. "Because I know this woman you've got to meet."

Natasha perked up.

"I don't think... I'm not really..."

Rhodey grinned. "Nah, don't worry, she's just as busy as you are. If you can get along with a zoomie — Air Force — you'll be great. Takes no bull, knows her stuff. Gets it done."

"Oh!" Tony said, squeezing Pepper at his side. "Oh, are we talking...? Hell yeah, you'll love her, Steve. She still a captain? See, she's a captain, just like you."

Pepper smiled. "At least you'd make a friend outside the team."

"Yeah," said Rhodey. "I guarantee she won't blink at the gender stuff. Hell, she won't blink at the Captain America stuff."

"You could have a lunch date in one of the cafés downstairs," said Natasha, who had dropped into ops mode. "No pressure. Controlled environment. Everyone's already signed up to keep our secrets."

Steve wanted to groan. At the same time, their curiosity was piqued. Excited, even. They were in a better place when it came to Peggy. They were worlds away from who they were right out of the ice. Maybe it was time to step out of that last layer of protection. 

"Okay, fine," said Steve. "If only so you'll quit hounding me about it."

"Attagirl," said Tony.

*

"Mostly I got hand-me-downs from Bucky's sisters," Steve was saying, a pair of adamantium twists catching the light with every movement. 

They were having a nice lunch.

  
   
   
 

**Author's Note:**

> No specific transphobic language but Bruce has issues to move past, Tony is a cad to all females, and there's varying levels of unplanned out-ing and ambiguous gendering. Steve also uses textbook language a lot because that's the foreign language they used to brief him. Minimal research done; not meant to be prescriptive.  
> This isn't my first non-cisgendered fic, I don't think, but it's the first time I've had to tag one. Let me know if there's any improvements to be made.  
> Tony yanking out the NDAs or shutting down nosy shopkeepers is not a new one under the sun, and not mine. These characters are not likewise mine. They're their own people, okay.  
> P.S. If I don't get to it, I would be so open to someone remixing this to post-WS where Steve just does not give a fig anymore and steps out in DC in a boho skirt and blouse with cutwork trim. But with deadly shoes, Nat insists. P.P.S. Steve says to look into Gwendoline Christie's more interesting necklines. (They're not so keen on the hemlines.)  
> P.P.P.S. A hug to all; apologies for not being able to whip out a sequel faster than the headlines; a thought spared for everyone who needs it. TheImmortalKitty's hit a hundred, one and all loved, and real.


End file.
